


The trilling wire in the blood

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Muzzles, Pining, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: The morning after the full moon, Bruce frees Jason from his bonds.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	The trilling wire in the blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xanthos_Samurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthos_Samurai/gifts).



> I’ve had this monster AU kicking around in my brain where Jason’s a werewolf, Dick is (some kind of) vampire, and instead of being Batman, Bruce takes care of supernatural creatures (with a monster secret of his own). I don’t know if I’ll ever write anything big on this idea, so for now: enjoy!
> 
> Title from T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets”.

Dawn broke with cruel rays of light, flooding the attic in an indifferent haze of morning. Everything hurt. Jason’s body was bruised from where he had flung himself against the bars of the cell; his wrists were rubbed raw by the unyielding steel of his restraints; his skull ached from the muzzle that pressed like a vice. But he was _human_.

Jason struggled onto his knees and focused on his breathing, just like Dick had told him. _It’ll help, I promise_ , Dick had said the first time he affixed the muzzle over Jason’s face, his fingers light and precise. _Breathe, and you’ll get through this. Morning comes sooner than you think_. The sun had still been high in the sky, and Jason couldn’t imagine what this perfect young man would know of being a monster.

(He learned soon enough.)

But breathing didn’t help today. The room was heavy with the smell of blood, of the chase, of the _hunt_ . He looked down at himself, naked and bloody. He bled more these days, more than before he was taken in. Before, he’d been able to hunt, bound across the fields and hide under overpasses, waking up with the memory of sheep guts and the evidence painted on his face. Now he was bound and muzzled, kept in a crate like a misbehaving pet. ( _It’s better this way_. That’s what _he_ had said, the first time and the second time and third and and and. _It’s safer for everyone. Jason, it’s safer for you._ ) Now there was no one to hurt but himself. The cuts were shallow; they’d be gone within days. The bruises were worse, already blooming purple, painted across his skin like a subpar Jackson Pollock imitation.

He licked his lips, his tongue touching the cold muzzle and tasting blood. He must have bitten himself when he had transformed back. His teeth were still too sharp, the canines digging into his lower lip when he closed his mouth. He tried to breathe and not smell the blood hanging in the air like sex. He opened his mouth and inhaled, exhaled. The trade-off between the smell and taste of blood was small, but he could analyse the taste and he could think about it. It tasted like iron. Like dirt. Like a feast he’d been deprived of. He could _think_ about the taste, and that reminded him that he was human after all – that he was a person.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed.

The door creaked open, and Jason sighed in relief. Dick was here. Dick would unmuzzle him and ruffle his hair as though he was a child, his half-cocked grin a balm for the pain of lycanthropy.

He opened his eyes.

It wasn’t Dick. It was _him_.

‘And what have I done to be blessed with a visit from the master of the house?’ His voice was rough. His throat hurt.

Bruce closed the door to the attic, a first aid kit in one hand and a dressing gown thrown over his arm. He put the kit down and hung the gown on the hook attached to the outside of the cage. He didn’t say anything until he pulled out the heavy key ring, searching for the correct key.

‘You were in a bad way last night.’ He found the right key and the lock turned with a heavy _click_. ‘I didn’t want to put Dick at risk.’

‘But you, you’re immortal.’ Jason snarled, trying to coat the words with the derision he felt. He hated speaking with the muzzle on. His words were underenunciated and slurred. Barely human.

‘ _I_ know how to handle you. I’m coming in.’

Jason had never seen Bruce scared. He hadn’t been scared the first time they met. He hadn’t been scared any time since. Though Jason’s full moon memories were always hazy and like a dream, he remembered his cold, calm, pale eyes when he had measured him for the muzzle, Dick’s nimble fingers holding his maw shut. (Dick had shivered. Jason remembered that.) Bruce didn’t seem fazed now as he kneeled before him, unconcerned by the blood staining his fine black slacks. He found the next key and undid it from the key ring.

‘Tell me your name.’

Dick always asked the question like it was the set-up for a joke, a smile on his face, his own fangs glinting impossibly in the morning sun. Bruce asked the question like Jason had something to prove.

‘Jason Peter Todd. I’m human.’

Bruce’s mouth tightened. He nodded, imperceptibly. He flipped the first aid kit open.

‘Bow your head.’

There were half-a-dozen locks on the muzzle, two at the back of his head, two each on either side of his face. Bruce started with the locks at the back, his free hand pushing Jason’s head further down, his fingers threading through his hair. The gesture was strangely soft compared to the quick and decisive way he undid the locks. His fingertips brushed gently over his scalp.

‘Lift your head.’

Jason obeyed without a word. Bruce angled his head with a hand, fingers pressing in under the metal. He reached over to begin working on the next set of locks. Four locks down. Bruce moved to work on the final two. As his hand moved over his face, Jason caught a whiff of his scent.

First, silver. Jason could smell the silver of the bracelets that Bruce always wore, whether for vanity or protection. But beneath that, beneath the nauseating smell of blessed metal, Jason could feel the smell of _Bruce_. The pale skin on the inside of his wrist was so thin, the blood begging to be free. He had never even seen Bruce bleed, but Jason knew that his blood was sweeter than port and just as intoxicating. He would sink his teeth into that skin, lap up the blood and bite until he could hear the delicious crush of bone. He would rip him open and taste his flesh, carve out his heart and save it for last. He could see Bruce’s eyes, pale and unseeing, his body cracked open beneath him.

Jason growled when Bruce removed the muzzle, the sound too deep for his vocal chords, primal and ravenous. Inhuman.

‘ _No_ .’ Bruce’s palm slapped across Jason’s cheek. He held him by the scruff of his neck, like he was a pup. Like he _was_ an animal. ‘You know what you are.’

Jason knew what he was. He was _hungry_. He wanted to eat; he wanted to feast. But no, no. That wasn’t who he should be, who he really was. He ground his teeth and forced himself to remember what he was.

‘I’m human.’

Bruce held him at arm’s length for several seconds before he let go and moved his hand, stretching it across his throat. Without taking his eyes off Jason, he reached for the alcohol and cotton pads. He could still feel the ghost of Bruce’s palm against his cheek.

Jason breathed through his mouth as Bruce cleaned his face, skirting over his lip, his cheek, his cheek with the burning tincture. He cleaned the bridge of his nose, where the muzzle had dug into his skin. Jason breathed through the pain of the sting in his cuts, each stab making him feel that more human. Bruce touched him carefully, cautiously. If he had been anyone else, Jason would’ve said it was tender. That was painful, too.

‘That’ll do.’

He let go of Jason. The memory of Bruce’s palm across his throat was an invisible brand.

Bruce removed the silver-plated cuffs with the same curious softness, rubbing salve over his injured skin, touching him like something precious. He massaged his wrists, and Jason breathed.

‘Stand up.’

Jason had barely stood since he transformed back, and he had forgotten his center of gravity. He wavered on his feet, almost losing his balance. Bruce caught him and held him in place. Jason rested his head on Bruce’s chest, just for a second, just to drink in how _human_ he smelled, how his skin would be salty and his blood would be sweet.

Bruce stepped away and returned with the dressing gown, putting it on Jason one sleeve at a time. Standing behind him, Bruce ran his fingers across the span of his shoulders, as though smoothing down a suit jacket. Jason shivered.

‘Clean yourself off. Take a shower. Alfred will have breakfast ready in an hour. Dick will want to see you; he was worried. I’ll make sure the muzzle and cuffs are adjusted for the next full moon. We need to keep you restrained, but we can make it a little more bearable.’

Bruce didn’t look at him as he closed the first aid kit and unlocked the padlock that connected the cuffs to the chain secured in the ground. He left without a second glance, the blood-stained muzzle tucked under his arm. 

Jason made it to his rooms, barely aware of where he was going. He showered and bandaged his wounds. He stared at his reflection. Apart from his teeth, sharp and canine but slowly retracting, he looked normal. Human.

He had another 29 days to wait before Bruce might touch him like that again.


End file.
